


dave and dirk horse around

by Elendraug



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, hors.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6458560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/pseuds/Elendraug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am a bad pony,” Dirk deadpans. “Please yiff me hard.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	dave and dirk horse around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreakyHumanShit (Maim)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maim/gifts).



> I wrote this on Sunday and was gonna post it after I finished another thing but fuck it, I think it is needed immediately
> 
> I have watched [My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic](http://mlp.wikia.com/wiki/Read_It_and_Weep) for the very first time in order to produce this content
> 
> Additionally:

“Dude, it’s three in the morning.” Dave’s sitting on the floor with his head leaned against the cushions of the couch, his legs crossed, with a pillow behind his neck. “How many more episodes are there?”

“We’re like halfway through season two,” Dirk explains. He’s on the floor, too, with a pillow under his head and under the small of his back. Dave’s knees nudge against Dirk’s ribcage. “We’ve got another...” He pauses, counting to himself. “Eleven episodes to go, including watching this one.”

Dave shrugs. “I’m up for it. This is compelling children’s TV, sir. This is some fuckin’ _[Battlestar Galactica](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYjLrJRuMnY)_ level shit. Can’t put it down.”

“Don’t joke about putting down ponies, man.” Dirk gropes around for his Xbox controller and unpauses the episode. “Rainbow Dash gets hurt in this one. This is serious shit.”

“Does she break her leg? You gotta put her down at that point, dude. Don’t make her suffer.”

Dirk throws a few pieces of popcorn at Dave, but they bounce off Dave’s chest and land on Dirk’s stomach. Dave picks them off Dirk’s shirt and eats them before any cheddar dust can settle into the fabric, then reaches way over Dirk’s torso to get a handful of popcorn out of the bag.

“She breaks her wing because she’s incredibly dazzling and dashing.”

Dave reaches for the popcorn again. “More like pulling some extreme Strider bullshit stunts, is what.” 

Dirk gives him the bag, and lets Dave rest it on his chest. The plastic crinkles against Dirk’s shirt as Dave rummages his hand through it. Dirk’s seen the episode enough times that he knows it by heart, just from hearing the audio, and can appreciate Dave’s commentary far more for the familiarity. “Are you enjoying it, though?”

“I dunno, dude. I’m taking away some mixed fuckin’ messages from this shit.” Dave gestures to the screen. “This pony is telling me that reading is uncool, but you spend your days doctoring all the pony books you read and sending them to people. What lesson am I supposed to internalize from that?”

“You’re not giving her a chance to engage in self-reflection. She’s gonna learn the magic of literature.”

“Get LaVar motherfuckin’ Burton back, yo.” Dave licks cheese flavoring off his fingertips. “Motherfuckin’ Reading Rainbow Dash up in here.”

Dirk smiles. “Y’know they Kickstarted that, right?”

“What, really?”

“Yeah.” Dirk nods. “A few years after the Condesce came onto the scene.”

“Huh.” Dave sucks at his index finger, and scrapes the pad of his finger with his teeth until all the orange dust is cleared off. “I love that you know this shit. I didn’t even get to see Barack Obana’s presidency.”

Dirk snorts. “Yeah, well. The Batterwitch used the rebooted version to deliver propaganda about the hemospectrum, under the guise of advocating literacy. The _rainbow_ part was a lot more literal, this time around.”

“I have this weird urge to make a Skittles joke but it’s kinda fuckin’ inappropriate.” Dave rolls down the edge of the popcorn bag so nothing will spill, and sets it on the floor. “Dude, Jake English wishes he was this pony.”

This time, Dirk outright laughs. “Oh my god, I told him the same thing. This was the episode I tried to get him to watch. Also, that kitten? That kitten is terrifying.”

“That kitten is Karkat.” Dave makes a vague gesture that Dirk has to assume means _something_ to Dave, but Dirk’s still getting used to reading body language, and can’t parse it past the tilt of his shoulders as he moves his hands. “This tiny-ass fucker who looks goddamned adorable but has a fuckload of teeth and starts hissing and spitting when you talk about, like, any media ever.”

Dirk wags his eyebrows. “A relatable feel.”

“Relatable like you and your spunky best pony.” Dave talks over Rainbow Dash’s dialogue. “She’s all, oh fuck, my friends can’t know that I like books, better shove this novel under my sheets like it’s weird porn and they caught me jackin’ it.”

“Are you implying something?”

Dave shakes his head. “Ain’t any implying involved. I’m straight up saying it. Her denial about the damn books is like you and this show. You keep trying to insist you’re not a brony, but here you are getting all excited about me finally laying eyes on Applejack. Like it’s fate.”

Dirk points at the screen. “Check it out, Daring Do is on LOHAC.”

“No way, my dude. You don’t get to trigger me away from this line of questioning.” He leans forward, away from the couch, to skeptically scrutinize Dirk’s expression.

Dirk presses his lips into a thin line, but without his shades to hide behind, it’s obvious that his eyes keep darting between the TV and Dave’s face.

Dave leans in further, smirking. “You think you’re gonna pull a fast one on me here, like I don’t know you’re watching these ponies and thinking damn, I sure could go for a fuckin’ tummy rub?”

Dirk bites his lip, grinning, and looks away. “You’ve got nothing on me.”

“Au contraire, mon frère.” Dave settles one hand on Dirk’s chest, and splays the fingers of his other hand across Dirk’s stomach. His tank top is taut across his body, some kind of lycra-mixed bullshit, and Dave can feel his muscles clenching beneath his fingertips. “I’ve got your number, and it ain’t 413.”

Dirk’s pulse thrums in his ears as he tilts his head back into the pillow. “What if I’m ticklish?”

Dave keeps his hand resting gently on Dirk’s chest, and rubs his stomach in quick, harsh circles. “Then I’m gonna call you a bad pony.”

Dirk bursts out laughing and brings his knees up; his abs tense as he does a half crunch. “You’re a douche!”

“And you’re a naughty fucking stallion, is what you are. This is your fucking justice.” Dave moves both hands to Dirk’s stomach and tickles him deliberately. “I am observing you quaking and trembling in your personal prayers of motherfuckin’ shame.”

The cartoon keeps going, and Dirk laughs so hard he can’t catch his breath. He rolls onto his side, facing Dave, so Hella Jeff’s vacant, gaping stare is directed right up at him. Dave starts laughing, too, and moves his onslaught onto Dirk’s obliques as Dirk curls in on himself but makes no attempt to push Dave away.

Dave relents after a minute, and goes back to petting Dirk’s side in slower motions. “Okay, maybe you’re not _that_ bad of a pony. I’ll grant you that much.”

Dirk reaches behind his back to the space he was occupying and grabs for the pillow that’d been beneath his spine. Without comment, he puts the pillow over his thighs and rolls onto his back again, pointedly looking at the TV.

His face is flushed. 

[ ](http://freakyhumanshit.tumblr.com/post/142388374770/dave-rubs-dirks-tummy-and-calls-him-a-bad-pony)

Dave grins. “We need to get some fresh air in here. You’re looking sweatier than a pig wrangler on a summer’s day.”

“Don’t you quote Applejack at me, man!” Dirk keeps the pillow firmly in place as Dave’s hands roam close to it. “If we make it to _Simple Ways_ you earn that privilege.”

“Oh yeah? What’s so special about that one?”

“It’s the thirteenth episode of season four, first of all, _and_ it’s about Texan appropriation.”

“Well shit.” Dave shrugs, feigning dismay. “You got me there.”

“If you’re gonna call me a brony, you have to at least acknowledge that I get to pull rank on when it’s acceptable to quote the show.”

There’s a long beat as Dave goes silent and both of them listen to shenanigans in Rainbow Dash’s hospital room. He pets a figure eight across Dirk’s torso, his touch firm on Dirk’s chest and lighter as his fingers trace near his hips. When Dave speaks again, it’s much quieter and approaching monotone.

“All right, but we gotta also acknowledge that you undeniably, unquestionably have a boner.”

“Damn it,” Dirk mutters.

“What, that I called you on it?”

Dirk shakes his head and lifts his hips into the pillow in a way that is not nearly as subtle as he might think. “No, that you’re _quoting Dashie_ while you’re calling me on it.”

“See, and I figured you’d be into that shit.” Dave circles his touch near Dirk’s navel, then back up to cross his chest strategically. The tank top leaves very little to the imagination, and it’s obvious that his efforts are having an effect. 

“No way, dude. She’s my waifu.”

“So?” 

Dave thumbs at Dirk’s nipples through his shirt. Dirk shivers and presses the pillow harder against his crotch.

“So, you don’t fuck your waifu. That’s fucking taboo.”

“Is it?” Dave shrugs, and keeps his right hand pinching at Dirk’s chest while his left moves to hover over the pillow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

There are suddenly cobras hissing on the TV, and Dirk’s hands grab for Dave’s wrist to bring his palm down onto the pillow. Dave can’t figure out the point of origin for Dirk’s moaning, and how much it was or wasn’t related to the serpentine sound effects.

“You _are_ a dirty pony,” Dave remarks, as if he’s a scandalized morning talk show host.

“Yeah,” Dirk sighs. “Kinda.”

“At least you can admit you’re nasty.” Dave lowers his voice, and lowers his hand to slide beneath the pillow and onto Dirk’s tented pajama pants. “The real question is, do you wanna get spunkier than your pony waifu?”

Dirk shifts his head to the side, until his forehead is nudged against Dave’s knee. “Am I gonna start clopping? Is that what you’re asking?”

“You don’t gotta worry about that unless you wanna.” Dave feels out the length of Dirk’s dick through his pajamas, and presses his free hand to Dirk’s flat stomach. “I will take it upon myself to yiff you in your time of need.”

“I am a bad pony,” Dirk deadpans. “Please yiff me hard.”

“You gotta be okay with kangaroo rats, but yeah sure.” Dave keeps his hand moving over Dirk’s crotch, pausing only as Dirk slips his thumbs into the waistband to tug his pants down slightly, the elastic keeping his dick pressed tight to his stomach. “Akwete Purrmusk to the rescue.”

With the episode still running, Dave grabs his own pillow from behind himself and puts it next to the one beneath Dirk’s head, and lies down beside him. He winds up with his back starting to slide beneath the edge of the futon mattress, but he doesn’t care enough to make Dirk move over on the floor.

Dave settles his chin on Dirk’s shoulder and glances at the screen. “God, Rainbow Dash is a fucking hypochondriac.”

“Don’t insult my wife while you’re pawing my dick, Akwete.”

“That’s Mr. Purrmusk to you.” Dave cups Dirk’s balls through the soft fabric of his pajama pants, and runs his fingers up past the waistband to tease at his foreskin with his fingertips. “You’re mister fuckin’ Pillow Pants over here. Fuckin’ _Clerks II_ Count Cockula and shit.”

“Right, I _vant_ to suck your pud.”

“Maybe later, yeah, but for now I’m just gonna get your horse running in this race.” Dave presses his chest to Dirk’s side and hooks his leg over Dirk’s thigh. He runs his socked toes down along Dirk’s calf. “I’ll be Kinky Kelly, and you can be the Sexy Stud.”

“Nay,” says Dirk, and at first Dave thinks he’s cooperating. “Kinky Kelly’s a donkey. You’re a kangaroo rat with cat lips.”

“And you’re nitpicking my movie jokes while I’m jacking you off.” Dave gets a grip around Dirk’s cock and gives him a few sure strokes. “What a jerk.”

The next episode starts, and Dirk grabs awkwardly for the controller to pause playback.

Dave waits until Dirk settles back into his spooning, his ass pressed to Dave’s thighs, and speaks directly against his skin, at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. “I am freaking shocked that you don’t wanna listen to ponies while I get you off.”

Dirk reaches behind himself to briefly thread his fingers through Dave’s hair, before the angle gets too uncomfortable to maintain. “Don’t worry, dude. I’ve got an active imagination.”

“I bet.” Dave keeps his hand fisted around Dirk’s dick and strokes along him steadily. “What’re you imagining?”

Dirk lets out a breathy sigh and closes his eyes. “I’m a beautiful pony and I am trotting through a pasture and the ocean is nowhere fucking near me.”

“Is that all?” Dave moves his hand down to hold the base of Dirk’s erection, and thumps the head rhythmically against Dirk’s stomach. “I got it on fuckin’ good authority that you’re probably thinking about something more specific.”

Dirk laughs, flustered. “Is that so?”

“Totally, and you know why?” Dave speeds up the pace as he repeats the movement, squeezing at the base and tapping the head against the faint trail of blond hair that runs up along Dirk’s stomach from between his legs. “Because you ain’t the only dude who’s watched a lot of weird shit on the internet.”

“Dave,” Dirk breathes. He rocks his hips into Dave’s grip through a practiced motion that is immediately identifiable as something he’s done plenty in the past, because it mimics the movements Dave is encouraging.

“Oh my fucking god, you are totally getting off on this, aren’t you?” Dave’s tone is far more delighted than judgemental; his bet paid off. “You want me to tell you what kinda pony you are?”

“Yeah.” Dirk moves his right hand under the pillow to support his head, and slides his left hand up his shirt to play with his own nipples. “Keep talking. Talk me through it.”

“I’m gonna lead you like you’ve got a damn halter, is what.” Dave’s hard in his boxers, and Dirk’s ass feels real nice, but he keeps his focus on taking care of Dirk first and foremost. He slides his right arm up between their bodies to comb through Dirk’s hair. He gets hair product on his fingers, and it’s difficult to support his weight just right, but he manages for a while. “And brush your mane, and pet your nose, and tell you how good you are. Feed you some fuckin’ sugar cubes and shit. Carrots. Hard liquor, if you’re Bojack.”

Dirk snorts at that. “Are you Akwete Purrmusk or Princess Carolyn?”

“I am a kangaroo rat with glued-on cat lips, and I saunter up to you in my leotard.” Dave jacks him off in a more traditional way for a while, to give his hand a slight rest. “I murr softly and curl my long tail around you. I get body paint on your coat and purr an apology.”

“I can be into body paint,” Dirk murmurs.

“Rad, so I shove my hand into the meta-text space that’s censoring your horse dong with a sandwich, and I restore the pixels to their former glory.”

Dirk laughs again. Dave thinks he could really get used to hearing Dirk laugh so freely.

“So anyway, clopping is a terrible fucking idea because hooves shouldn’t go near dicks, probably, but that’s just my ignorant-ass opinion. I’m doing my best here. I got shitty little rodent hands but I’m still gonna help you out.”

“You’re doing fine,” Dirk says, more softly than Dave would’ve expected. He moves his hand down from his chest to rest on top of Dave’s, encouraging him and guiding his movements. The pajama pants constrict his range of motion, slightly, but he keeps his thrusting shallow as he bucks into Dave’s grip.

“And your dick is like, fuckin’ huge. Like the biggest damn thing I ever laid my nocturnal eyes on. Nothing in my jungle-prowling book can compare to this flared shit. I am like bowled the fuck right over, like some pins that got in the way of The Dude. I might even call in backup to burst into song to boast about it, and then spin my ass right round like I got an itch for feline fouettés en tournant, and can’t wait to fit and sit my ass in a basket headed straight to hell because here I am, and I’m fondling a fuckin’ horse.”

Dirk himself is nowhere near hung like a horse, of course. Dave’s in favor of how nicely he slides into the curve of his palm, how warm Dirk’s hand is atop his own, how the scant stickiness of his precome is so easily smeared away with the slightest movement of his thumb. For every run-on sentence out of Dave’s mouth, Dirk’s gone even quieter, his breathing quick, escaping in short exhales between his parted lips.

“I’m gonna make a Faustian bargain with a magical-ass cat dude in a goddamn bowtie to conjure the most ridiculous load out of you. This shit is gonna put an internet’s worth of hentai to shame. The wad you are gonna blow will be unbelievable.”

“Dave, don’t stop.” Dirk moves Dave’s hand out of the way and takes over stroking himself, and for an instant, Dave’s confused about what he isn’t supposed to be stopping. 

“Okay,” he assures him.

He runs his fingertips along Dirk’s abs, feeling out his muscles, and back up to his tank top, pulled tight across his chest. There’s sweat in Dirk’s hair, at the nape of his neck, and his skin is warm. Dave bites at the shell of his ear, alternating between using his teeth and mouthing on him with his lips, or whatever the fuck he can approximate that’s even remotely horse-like. He exhales hotly against Dirk’s hair, just behind his ear, and Dirk grinds his ass backwards against Dave’s hips.

“I’m gonna get my hands on you and touch you so fuckin’ gentle, because you are a beautiful pony and you have a luxurious coat, and... uh.” Dave’s sentence falters as Dirk tilts his head back, to twist up towards Dave’s face. His eyes are half-lidded and his lips are parted and his hand keeps moving, measured but hasty, and his bangs are mussed and stuck to his forehead with sweat.

Dave keeps a hand on Dirk’s hip, petting his fingertips at the spot where his pelvis dips to his thigh in a way he practically only sees on dudes, and lifts himself up enough to meet Dirk halfway. The light from the TV finally switches off; it’s been idle long enough to allow them the privacy of darkness, so late at night that it’s early.

Dave kisses him.

He tastes sort of like snack food but mostly like a guy who’s been up too long without brushing his teeth, and Dave doesn’t care. Dirk’s not usually much of a fan of kissing, but Dave is, and keeps his lips soft and gentle as Dirk touches himself. He does his best not to exhale up Dirk’s nose, and drags his fingernails lightly across Dirk’s skin, just below his navel, just above where his fist is pumping rhythmically. Dirk opens his mouth just enough for Dave to touch his tongue to Dirk’s, slow and not the slightest bit insistent.

Dirk starts panting. Dave moves his mouth along Dirk’s jawline, back up to his ear, and takes his earlobe between his teeth just in time for Dirk to gasp and groan his way through an orgasm that leaves spunk spurted up along his tank top, dripping off his knuckles where it’s dribbled onto his hand. 

Dave spoons him, securely, and feels their hearts both racing.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “I got you.”

Dirk pulls Dave’s hand up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles.

“You _do_ get me.”

Dave kisses Dirk’s neck and squeezes around his chest. “I got so many horse jokes now, just for you.”

“You make me feel like a good pony,” Dirk sighs, pressing his cheek to the pillow. “Despite what I may have been told in the past.”

“Hey, if you ask me, everypony is a good pony.” His pulse is still pounding, but the longer he holds still and holds Dirk, the more he doesn’t want to move anymore. “Everypony is fallible and shit. We all live and learn, or whatever.”

“Yeah.” Dirk’s reply is half yawned. The Xbox’s fans stop running as it too times out and shuts itself off.

“Okay, we’ll learn more about friendship when we wake up,” Dave says, more to himself than to Dirk. “Goodnight, morning, whatever.”

Dirk clutches his hand as he drifts off.


End file.
